


Words We Have Said (Colored My Thoughts)

by blackorchids



Category: Still Star-Crossed (All Media Types), Still Star-Crossed (TV), Still Star-Crossed - Melinda Taub
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Canon-Typical Violence, Coda, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Fluff, Mentions of Suicide, Minor Character Death, Oblivious, Plotting, Post Episode: s01e03 All The World's A Stage, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-20
Updated: 2017-06-20
Packaged: 2018-11-16 10:10:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11250990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackorchids/pseuds/blackorchids
Summary: Okay, so he's a little impressed with Rosaline. That still doesn't mean he wants to marry her. Honestly.





	Words We Have Said (Colored My Thoughts)

**Author's Note:**

> ahhhhh honestly the bit where isabella wants a female saint to inspire girls was so good and Big Mood tbh
> 
> title from the song _dance round the memory tree_ from the narnia prince caspain soundtrack????dont ask me why bc idk

Hours before their scheduled romantic picnic, Benvolio spies his betrothed and her sister in the marketplace, browsing sweet nectarines and berries, laughing and smiling and speaking kindly to the wizened merchant, who gives the sisters a palmful of grapes each, smiling graciously and bowing with apparently genuine gratitude when they purchase an armload of apples.

Rosaline is wearing a serving girl’s dress identical to the one her sister has on, and she has on no lip rogue or kohl to speak of, and Benvolio has never seen her look so happy. The expression becomes strained when she picks up on a singing bard’s repeat of the poem Benvolio himself supposedly wrote her, though she seems to be handling it all in good jest when her sister elbows her and pokes fun.

The plan is hasty, but it falls into place on his way to his chaperoned luncheon with his bride-to-be, his uncle’s hand wrapped uncomfortably tight around the back of his neck in the man’s preferred appears-to-be-affection stance.

She sits across from him in a gentlewoman’s finest livery, hair bound atop her head, slender hands picking their meal apart. She is a decent actress, he thinks, and her expression is passably blank when he leans closer to outline what will soon be their newest plot into her ear, disguising it as youngsters in love whispering away.

Rosaline stands near him as the prince and his many ambassadors arrive, and if he thought she was a good actress before, it's nothing compared to his opinion of her after she blinks and startles into her character. Every lord that kisses her hands causes her smile to grow more warm and enamoured, and she inches close enough to him that it’s very-near improper. The prince dismisses his sister and everyone leaves soon after, and Rosaline’s convincing expression of love turns brittle and exhausted and Benvolio wonders what made her decide to be even this honest with him.

“Do it,” she says heavily, “send word to the abbess.”

The triumph is not as sweet as he'd expected. It's soured tenfold when Stella rebuffs his half-cocked plan to run away together, her expression telling him what she’d refused to say aloud: that she thinks he's mad, that she did not fancy him near as much as he fancied her.

Benvolio idly imagines telling his uncle that he’d proposed elopement to a common prostitute, just for the satisfaction of seeing the man go blue in the face. Instead, his uncle insinuates that the Lord Capulet has murdered Verona’s best architect instead of admitting he hasn't the funds to complete the grand chapel.

 _Men in power and their egos_.

The following day finds the pair of them in the town square, standing before the royal siblings, the ambassadors of Italy, their respective families, and all of Verona. Rosaline leans forward and apologizes, very softly, for not taking the carriage to the abbey. Benvolio is lucky she hadn't tried, as he’d not remembered to arrange one. He apologizes too, for failing in that, for trying to run off with Stella, for being a part in this when he knows his word is worth more weight than her own.

It's clear she believes his apology is one of ironic commiseration in their shared situation. He doesn't attempt to disavow her in that belief.

Benvolio strides down the aisle, steps under the covered pavilion, and hopes his expression is that of Montague disinterest. There is a too-long moment before he hears Rosaline approaching him, and he wonders what whispered words she passed with their Prince, for neither look happy at all.

She places her hand upon his with delicacy, though her grip tightens the longer the prince’s speech goes on. Benvolio squeezes back, once, twice, three times in rapid succession, trying to encourage her to loosen her grip and relax in equal measure. Another too-long pause follows the prince’s speech, and Benvolio drags up what he hopes are appropriate betrothal vows of promise, keeping his eyes on Rosaline so that he will not glance at Stella, in the audience, again. Rosaline repeats him word for word, and Prince Escalus is slow in wrapping their joined hands between the embroidered ribbon.

Rosaline draws in a sharp breath when the man hesitates, and her tight grip on his hand returns when His Highness finally ties the knot.

The wagon with their likenesses explodes and Benvolio drags her down and out of the way, free hand tight on her waist. She's paying him no attention, searching through the smoke and dust and chaos with sharp, focused eyes until she suddenly relaxes against him for just a moment. His bride-to-be mouths her sister’s name, and then drags him off to chase down their criminal, hands clutching each other through no fault of the binding ribbon.

Rosaline runs quite fast, despite her heavy gowns and what he assumes are a pair of those ridiculously non-functional silken slippers that the noble ladies of the town prefer to wear, but he stops to cut their hands free anyway, because he can't imagine it's easy to run in skirts and he can't imagine she’ll ever deign to request a break or, heaven forbid, tell him to continue on without her.

She does keep up, however, right on his heels even as he scales the building, requiring only minimal assistance, and she does not flinch away when Truccio’s bleeding, maniac face is revealed, nor when he jumps to his death. He thinks she's quiet upon their return up the narrow, abandoned streets of Verona towards the city centre because she's shaken after watching a man take his own life in such a brutal fashion, but when she explains her thoughts behind Truccio’s unclaimed crime, he realizes she's spent the entire walk thinking and plotting.

The same genuine excitement that he’d admired only a few mornings before rushes through her expression when he agrees that this is a mystery they should investigate, and neither of them need to say aloud that it is something they will keep to themselves.

They part ways, and Benvolio takes only a few steps before he backtracks and crosses to the street she’d turned down, watching her figure cut through the dust and disarray until she’s in eyesight of a pair of armed Capulet cousins.

To ensure her continued safety, of course.

**Author's Note:**

> man I have rly missed this show since it's been gone (had fun live tweeting with the actors tonight!). come talk to me about the show or leave a prompt on tumblr [@ rosalinesbenvolio](http://www.rosalinesbenvolio.tumblr.com)!


End file.
